


Mimosa

by Liondragon (Sameshima_Shuzumi)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Childhood Trauma, M/M, Violence, Wordcount: 100-1.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-06-17
Updated: 2003-06-17
Packaged: 2018-03-06 22:49:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3151229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sameshima_Shuzumi/pseuds/Liondragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Small, weedy plant, with fern-like leaves that almost instantly close upon touch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mimosa

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to Snitchfiction (and kindly rec'd by their catch of the day journal). I can find no other records from that period. Tag mostly for tone. Original header follows.
> 
> Short. Sweet. Slash. Characters belong to JK Rowling and associates. Unauthorized duplication and distribution prohibited. Points if you get all my diction choices and allusions. 

So when Draco tried to corner him between Charms and Transfiguration, it wasn't that livid green 'S' on his robes or his father's silver-blond hair or even the years of being a thorn in his side which made Harry Potter run. 

He'd dueled Draco, insulted him, endured his countless humiliations, but Harry's temper crumpled to fear the moment he knew— 

You see, they'd never punched each other, or shoved, or even thrown a shoulder in the other's way. And now Draco wanted _this_? 

It came to Harry as he ran that his childhood had been a litany of threats culminating with kicks and meaty fists. Now his enemy wanted to put his hands on him. And though before Hagrid's fortress of an embrace, and Ron and Hermione's constant friction at his shoulder had shut him safe as a cupboard door, now, _now_ , nothing could stopper the memories of rotted fingers clutching his face, scrabbling hands burning on his flesh, traitor's grip around his knees... 

... and the cold, polished metal which had tugged at his gut, ripped him away, and made him wary of Mrs. Weasley's comforting arms and Sirius' grubby hand, startled by Hermione's lightning-quick kiss, afraid to let go of his quill, afraid to touch anything in a room, or anyone in the dark, in case his last memory began as his first had ended. 

With the caress of yew wood on his brow. 

"Don't touch me." 

 

 

 

 


End file.
